Harry's heart leaped again, but his will kept his body immovable.
The rumble became a roar, and the jet of smoke turned to a cloud.
Then the train drew into the station and stopped.

The people began a continuous shout, bands played fiercely, and a tall, thin man of middle years, dressed in black broadcloth, descended from a coach.

All the soldiers saluted, the bands played more fiercely than ever, and the shouting of the crowd swelled in volume.
It was the first time that Harry had ever seen Jefferson Davis, and the face, so unlike that which he expected, impressed him.

He saw a cold, gray, silent man with lips pressed tightly together.

He did not behold here the Southern fire and passion of which he was hearing so much talk, but rather the reserve and icy resolve of the far North.